


Impromptu Angel/Spike/Wes smut

by flaming_muse



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-26
Updated: 2006-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Read the packet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impromptu Angel/Spike/Wes smut

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TheBratQueen and JustHuman over e-mail
> 
> set in some vague season 5 where there was a lot more sex and a lot less death than in canon
> 
> Originally posted to my LJ on September 26, 2006.

Spike wakes to the soft sounds of kissing and the comforting susurration of Wesley's breath. He is warm, lying on his side in Angel's big bed, but the heat is only residual. His arms are empty of the lean, pliant body he had held for much of the night.

There is a wordless murmur, a happy little sound, and Spike looks through the fringes of his lashes to see Angel smiling - _smiling_ \- at Wesley as he kisses him on the far side of the mattress. They've pushed the covers off of themselves, so Spike has an unimpeded view of their bare bodies as they hold each other, but he's too stuck on the smile to pay much attention to the rest. It's soft and doting, full of love, and Spike has never in his long existence seen it before.

Rumpled from the night's sleep and the vigorous shag beforehand, Wesley smiles in return, gently caressing Angel's skin as they kiss and kiss. Angel moves closer, his leg between Wesley's, but it's not hot; it's sweet and far more intimate than anything the three of them have ever done together, and Spike has to close his eyes.

The sounds don't stop, though, and it's all Spike can do not to turn over or get out of bed. If he does, there's bound to be talking and awkwardness and yelling and probably him throwing something, so it seems easier just to sit there and wait for them to be done with it. If nothing else, he'll have something pretty to wank off to later after they've gone... if he even feels like it.

Bollocks. Of course he'll feel like it. It'll keep him from thinking about the rest.

So he stays where he is and listens to the sounds of their mouths moving together. The bed shifts a bit, and then Wesley inhales more deeply. Spike cracks his eyelids to see Angel's hand on Wesley's cock, coaxing it to full hardness. He's always playing with Wesley's cock, Spike comments to himself, like Angel's got some fixation with it, but who wouldn't when stroking it makes Wesley gasp into his kiss?

"Shh," Angel says, barely a whisper, though he doesn't glance over at Spike to see if he's awake or not. He probably doesn't care, and he's making sure Wesley doesn't either as he teases his mouth further open for an even deeper kiss.

Wesley doesn't seem to mind, at least if Spike goes by the signs of the lack of hesitation with which he returns Angel's kisses and his growing erection in Angel's hand. Wesley mmms into the kiss, sliding one hand into Angel's hair and skimming the other over Angel's chest.

Angel has obviously been paying attention, because he seems to know just how to stroke Wesley's cock. He's perfected that little twist Spike thought was his own trick, and Wesley's hips thrust up into his grip as Angel muffles Wesley's groan with his mouth. He doesn't stop, though, kissing him harder and stroking him steadily until Wesley is tense, gripping Angel's shoulder and moving helplessly with the rhythm of his hand.

Their mingled moans are hushed, like they're in their own private little world that just happens to be about two feet away from where their other lover is supposedly sleeping. Angel laughs softly as Wesley tries to pull away and take a breath, a sure sign that he's close to the edge. Instead, Angel just keeps kissing him and kissing him, almost devouring him, not out of lust but out of something warmer and happier that Spike's heart hurts to see.

He can't look away, though, not when Wesley's hips are jerking, his fingers pressing deep into the muscle of Angel's shoulder. Wesley's desperate whimpers are barely muffled by Angel's mouth, and Angel's eagerly rubbing his own erection against Wesley's hip. Spike is rock hard in response, and his mouth waters for a taste of the pre-come glistening on the head of Wesley's cock.

"You feel so good, Wes," Angel murmurs against the corner of Wesley's mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. Wesley moans incoherently, his hips stuttering, and Spike has to swallow hard to keep from moaning as well.

Angel's thrusts speed up, too, rocking the bed just enough that the sheet is brushing against Spike's erection in the same rhythm. "Yeah, like that," Angel whispers as Wesley starts to fuck his hand.

They're all straining bodies and eager mouths, totally lost in each other. Spike could reach out and touch them if he wanted to, but there's no room for him in that tight embrace. They work together perfectly, touching and clutching, pressing against each other like there's no such thing as close enough.

Wesley comes first, shuddering and spilling his release over Angel's hand. There's the faint smell of blood, and from Angel's groan Spike guesses that Wesley's lip has split from their bruising kisses. Angel's grip moves from Wesley's cock to his thigh, pulling him in closer, if that's even possible, and it only takes him a few more hard, grunting thrusts against his hip for him to reach his own orgasm.

Spike sighs and tries to relax, but Angel and Wesley don't stop kissing each other. Their movements gentle, and Angel's stupid, soppy smile returns, but the kissing continues, tender and punctuated by sighs of satisfaction. Angel cups Wesley's cheek, thumbing his swollen lower lip, and looks at him with such joy that Spike wonders if he put the stake back in the bedside table, and not just because there's the bitter bile of jealousy churning in his stomach.

But Angel's soul seems to be sticking, and Spike's left with nothing to do but wait.

He never thought that he'd actually start to hate the sounds of kissing. Warm, happy, satisfied kissing, with little touches (ditto warm, happy, etc.) to go along with it. Not that he begrudges Wesley a moment of happiness, because fuck knows he deserves to be treated like a prince, but still. There's something about them being so bloody in love, even if they're not saying it, that makes Spike want to be sick.

Finally Angel rolls to the side with a heavy sigh, and Wesley stretches beside him, a tempting enough sight that Spike's mouth is watering again. Wesley glances over in Spike's direction, looking slightly troubled, and Spike shuts his eyes in a flash. Conversation is about the last thing he wants right now.

There's some more shifting on the bed, although neither of them gets up, and the barely audible sounds of their fingers entwining. Their feet are probably rubbing together, too.

Spike can't stand it anymore. "Don't you two have to shower now or something?" he asks without moving.

There's a sharply indrawn breath, and Wesley says, "You're awake?"

"Kind of hard not to be with all the noise 'round here." Spike turns onto his back, his eyes still closed.

"I didn't realize." There's something in Wesley's voice that sounds far too close to pity for Spike's liking.

Before Spike can get up, though, there's a warm hand on his arm and then a warm body settling next to him.

"Good morning," Wesley says before giving Spike one of those soft kisses. It'd be better if Spike couldn't taste Angel on his lips.

It's not like Spike's going to refuse a kiss from Wesley, no matter how sulky he might be at the moment, so he returns it with less enthusiasm than he would have if he'd woken up a different way and says, "Morning, pet." He starts to lose the edge of his frustration when he opens his eyes to see Wesley smiling at him, too, though he can't help but compare its brightness with the smile he saw earlier and find it lacking when directed at him.

"I'm surprised you didn't join in," Wesley says, settling on his back next to him. He sighs, still smiling, and looks like a man well-pleased.

"You seemed to be doing fine without me."

Angel slides over, trailing his hand down Wesley's arm, and doesn't say anything at all. Spike supposes it's better than him being smug, but he's still struck by the urge to punch him. He wonders if he'll ever _not_ want to and finds it a terrifying thought.

"You would have been welcome," Wesley says, but he glances over at Angel as though seeking confirmation, and Angel looks far less sure about that.

Spike shrugs and closes his eyes again, though he doesn't turn away. "Doesn't matter."

The bed shifts, and then suddenly Wesley's lips are back on his. "It does," he says, sliding his fingers through Spike's hair. "We didn't mean to leave you out."

Deciding that it's in his best interest not to point out that leaving him out might well have been Angel's plan all along, Spike says, "Least I had something nice to look at." He chases after Wesley's mouth.

"How nice?" Wesley slips his hand under the sheet, finding Spike's half-hard erection.

Spike draws in a quick breath; he might not actually breathe, but he still finds himself suddenly very short on air. "Very."

"Tell me," Wesley all but purrs, stroking him with those clever hands that had so recently been caressing Angel's body. Spike's cock doesn't seem to mind the memory as much as other parts of him do.

"You looked - " Edible. Fuckable. Gorgeous. " - happy." Well, that wasn't the word he'd meant to say, but it was out there. "Hot," he quickly adds to try to cover up the slip.

"I was," Wesley says with a faint frown. "Happy, I mean."

"And hot," Angel says, which as a first phrase of the morning to Spike isn't particularly encouraging, but at least it's honest. There might not be much that Spike and Angel agree on, but Wesley is generally one of them.

"Always is," Spike says.

Much to Spike's amusement, Wesley's cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink as he blushes, and he strokes Spike's erection in the most effective way to get him off of the subject. Why Wesley gets so self-conscious is beyond Spike, but...

Wesley's hand twists around the head of Spike's cock, and Spike wonders what he'd been thinking about. Then Angel drops a kiss on Wesley's shoulder, and Spike remembers. Vividly. The two of them, lost in their little world. Lost in each other. He expects his grimace of pain is taken for one of pleasure, and that's all right with him.

"You must be tired, love," Spike says to Wesley. Taking Wesley's hand and moving it away from his cock is one of the most unpleasant things he's ever done. "Worn out after your shag and all. Don't worry about me. You two have a little kip now. Bask in the bleeding glow. I'll go take care of myself."

Wesley looks over his shoulder at Angel and then back at Spike. That he looks at Angel at all seals the deal. "That hardly seems fair," Wesley starts.

Spike throws back the covers with enough force that Wesley's soft blue eyes widen. "Hardly seems fair to make you finish me off when you're already done."

"Well, I'm... not as young as I used to be," Wesley says, his flush returning, "but Angel - "

Oh, great. A pity fuck by leftovers. "No," Spike said firmly. It's not Angel he's jealous over in the whole mess, anyway. It's Wes's smiles he wants, after all. Obviously. He props himself up on his elbows only to find himself being pushed back down again by one of Wesley's hands in the middle of his chest.

"Spike..."

"Let it go, Wes. It's not _about_ me. I see that, all right? Don't need to be selfish." He doesn't listen for Angel's snort. "Let it go." He goes to brush Wesley's hand away again and finds another, stronger hand there as well. Angel's.

"Do you mind?" Angel asks Wesley with a gentleness that contrasts with the unyielding pressure he's putting on Spike's chest. Spike could fight him off if he wanted to, but he doesn't move.

"Of course not." Wesley primly slides out of the way as Angel takes his place beside Spike.

Angel doesn't say anything more, just leans over Spike, one leg over his and his hand still on his chest, and kisses him. The kiss is hard, powerful, nothing like what he was sharing with Wesley, and it hurts more than just where his lip splits from the pressure. Angel doesn't groan like he did for Wesley's blood. Still, it's bloody good, and Spike's hard again just from the way Angel devours him. Well, that and the hard cock pushing against his thigh. Maybe it's best to fuck the mood out of his system, at least for a little while.

"Angel," Wesley says after a moment, and Angel tenses. Spike opens his eyes to see Wesley's hand on Angel's shoulder. "Perhaps a little more gently?"

"We don't do gentle, pet," Spike says, keeping his eyes on Wesley's face to block out the disgust that must be on Angel's at the thought. "You know that."

"You could."

Spike snorts, but before he can respond more than that Angel says, "Come here." He turns Spike's face and kisses him.

It's soft. Not as soft as Angel was kissing Wesley, but it's much sweeter than anything they've ever experienced, at least not while sober. Their mouths are exploring each other instead of taking, asking instead of demanding. It's slow and gentle and... tentative?

Spike opens his eyes to see a furrow in Angel's brow, like he's doing something difficult. Like thinking, Spike doesn't say, and he pushes Angel away. He only goes a few inches, but it's enough. "Don't do me any favors, mate."

Angel's frown turns into a glower. "That wasn't a _favor_. It was a _kiss_. You know, that thing you do with your mouth besides talk back? Or suck cock. I don't know which you're better at. You've had so much practice with both."

"Angel..." The sharp disapproval in Wesley's voice stops the argument before it can escalate further. Spike feels vaguely disappointed and a bit adrift that he doesn't get to snap back.

"Sorry," Angel says to Wesley. He doesn't say it to Spike. Of course he doesn't, but he still looks at Wesley with those big, apologetic eyes.

Spike's stomach churns, but he doesn't pull away because Wesley is moving closer.

"Let me show you," Wesley says. He leans in, breath warm against Spike's face as their lips touch. Wesley is, as Spike well knows, an excellent kisser, and he gives him the most exquisite of kisses, just firm enough to make Spike's skin tingle but not passionate enough that Spike has to push Angel off and get his arms around Wesley instead. He drinks in Wesley's taste, so much less conflicting than Angel's, and lets himself get lost in it, as he always does. He tries, anyway.

Like all good things, it doesn't last. "Now you," Wesley says, backing away. His eyes are glassy, and that gives Spike enough of a boost to his ego that he doesn't immediately push Angel off.

Angel's expression isn't so pleased, though, and he frowns down at Spike again. "I don't think I can do it like that."

"Try," Wesley says. "Please."

But Spike's reading Angel's distaste loud and clear, and he's not up for experimenting just to please Wesley, not this morning. Not after what's happened already. "Let's not and say we didn't." He tries to slide out from under Angel, but he's held in place by hands that know from a century of experience exactly how to pin him down.

Angel looks down at him for a second and then kisses him again. Spike struggles, but Angel is determined this time. There's no hint of hesitation. He kisses him - long, slow, deep - and kisses him until Spike's struggles leach away, leaving him surprisingly pliant beneath the large body he's always been at least half-fighting against in any encounter for a hundred years or more.

When Angel pulls back, Wesley is smiling at them both, but Spike can only see it out of the corner of his eye. His focus is on Angel's face just above him. It looks different, possibly because Angel's dazed look must mirror his own.

"Ponce knows how to kiss," he says dumbly. He feels like he ought to have known that somehow.

"Yes, he does," Wesley says in a very satisfied tone. "So do you."

Spike's about to prove it to Angel, bugger rejection, when Angel's cell phone rings in the other room. Angel sighs, but after a second he levers himself up and off the bed.

"Be right back," he says, leaving Spike and Wesley alone. A few seconds later Spike can hear his low murmur through the open doorway.

Spike closes his eyes and contemplates how to get rid of his erection. Jerking off in the shower sounds best right now - uncomplicated, independent, easy. Nothing to worry about but himself. Not like the rest of his life.

"One of these days you two are going to have to let your guards down, you know," Wesley says, sliding closer and running his hand over Spike's chest.

"Been a long time we've needed them," Spike reminds him. He snakes an arm around Wesley's shoulders and pulls him in to lean against his side. His warmth and presence are as soothing as always, even if they do nothing to alleviate the ache in Spike's cock.

"You're on the same side now."

"Your side."

"That wasn't quite what I meant."

"It's true." Spike reaches up to cup Wesley's face. "It's all about you, love. For both of us."

His eyes too bloody understanding, Wesley shakes his head and turns his face to kiss Spike's palm. "No, it isn't," he says gently.

Before Spike can argue - or, worse, agree - Angel comes back, his face grim. He's still naked, but he's standing like he's wearing one of his fancy work suits, all business. "There's a problem," he says. "Big demon summoning, human sacrifice. Kids." He spits the word out like he can taste how vile it is. "It's big. Organized. Maybe an inside job. We need to stop it before it starts. Meeting in forty-five minutes. I need you both there."

Spike and Wesley nod. Their embrace loses its sensuality in an instant.

"Wes, I'll need your books," Angel says. "Any references to some demon called Offspring's Bane or Killer of Hope."

Spike snorts. "More poncy titles. Why aren't they ever called Bob or Joe?"

The corner of Wesley's mouth twitches in a faint smile. "You wouldn't want them to get teased by all of the other demons, would you?" he asks, though it's clear his mind is already on the problem.

"You're one to talk, _Spike_ ," Angel says. "And you need to bring me my good axe from wherever you've hidden it."

" _Hidden_ \- " Angel's look cuts him off. "Right." Spike sits up, muttering, "Always a bridesmaid, never a shag." His cock is still standing at attention, but maybe he can get in a quick wank in the shower before they go off to save the day. Or not. Being horny might give him an edge.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Wesley asks Angel, "Forty-five minutes?"

Angel nods and gives them both a speculative look. "He'll be bitching all day, won't he? All right. But quickly."

Wesley reaches out to take Spike in his grip, stroking him firmly. Spike considers arguing, but, really, why would he? He leans back and lets his body react, mouthing softly at Wesley's shoulder. Maybe it's not what he wanted, but he's going to come. Nothing bad there.

It gets even better. Much to Spike's surprise, there's a soft thunk as Angel puts his phone down on the nightstand, and then he cups the side of Spike's face and turns his head away from Wesley. The second Spike opens his mouth to object, Angel gives him another one of those endless, thorough kisses. Wesley's hand speeds up, but Angel doesn't. He just drinks in every one of Spike's gasps and groans and keeps coming back for more. Wesley's sending Spike spiraling upward, but Angel's keeping him from flying away too soon.

Wesley's hand pulls away, and Spike looks over to find Wesley licking his own palm with long sweeps of his tongue. Spike can almost feel that tongue on his own body, he knows it that well, and he has to look up at the ceiling for a second to keep from embarrassing himself. He can't look away for long.

"God," Angel murmurs.

"Fuck," Spike agrees, his mouth dry.

Wesley releases Spike's hand and shakes his head. "You're not supposed to be watching _me_."

"Better stop doing that, then," Spike tells him.

Angel swallows, as transfixed on Wesley as he was earlier in the day. "And stop being naked."

"And stop breathing," Spike adds. "Not that I recommend it."

"You're wasting time," Wesley says and takes hold of Spike's cock once more. His grip is warm and tight, and his skin is slippery and just rough enough to be interesting; the combination is pretty much as close to heaven as Spike ever expects to get.

Angel's mouth descends on his, and Spike doesn't hesitate to kiss back. He pours himself into it, diving into the rush of arousal and holding on tight. Right now nothing else matters.

"Yes," he hears Wesley breathe, and Spike reaches out blindly for him as his hips start to move with Wesley's rhythm. He drags Wesley's free hand to his lips and tears himself away from Angel's mouth. Angel immediately follows his lead, pressing his mouth to each knuckle as Spike kisses Wesley's palm.

"Oh," Wesley says, barely a whisper, looking at them both like they're wondrous creatures instead of the demons they truly are. Then he frees his hand, and Angel and Spike's mouths find each other again.

Spike jerks as he feels a hot tongue slick over the head of his cock, but Angel doesn't let him move away from the kiss. He's slow and steady, demanding Spike's attention as Wesley wraps his lips around Spike's erection. Even when Spike's hands flail outward, one landing on Wesley's thigh and the other in Angel's hair, Angel keeps their mouths together, not breaking the kiss for a second. Angel's overwhelming, and for once Spike can't fight it. For once he doesn't want to.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Spike tries to say, though the words are lost in Angel's mouth. He tightens his hand on Wesley's thigh and groans loudly as he tries not to thrust upward; Wesley only sucks harder, jerking his hand faster along the shaft, instead of taking the gesture as the warning Spike means it to be. Hot, wet suction on his cock and cool, wet suction on his mouth, hands on his skin, wordless murmurs in his ears, and he can't hold on. Unsure of whose mouth is the catalyst, he rockets over the edge still clinging to both of them.

He comes back to himself, warm and tingling, to find Angel and Wesley kissing gently across his body. It's still much softer than what he shared with Angel, but he tries not to care. It's not important right now; they have work to do.

"You two going to lie about in bed all day?" he asks, stretching. "Got kiddies to save."

Angel rolls his eyes. It might be Spike's imagination that there's less disdain there than usual.

"I've remembered a reference to the Killer of Hope in one of the Jordanicus texts," Wesley says. "Also perhaps something in the Book of Woes, which isn't always reliable but which is a place to start. I'll have my staff start searching while I shower."

"Got to give him points for multitasking," Spike says. For once he's not offended that Wesley was thinking of something else while in bed with him.

They all manage to roll out of bed and find their feet. A few phone calls later and they're in Angel's spacious shower, washing for once without playing. Much playing, anyway. Spike's soapy hand does somehow end up on Wesley's shoulder, and Wesley curls his fingers around it with a small smile. After a few seconds Angel adds his hand to the mix. Their fingers don't fit together neatly, but they manage to arrange themselves so that they're all connected. A quick squeeze and they're back to their showers and off to get dressed and save the day.

They ride down in Angel's private elevator, and Wesley is out the door toward his own office before Angel can bellow Harmony's name.

"Get me the head of Rituals and Sacrifices," Angel snaps as she pops through the door.

She nods. "Just his head, or all of him?"

"We'll start with all of him," he says. "What happens after will depend on whether he has anything to do with this Bane of whatever."

"Sure, boss." She bounces out.

"And you," Angel says to Spike, "get my axe. And bring yours. And maybe some pliers."

Spike smiles darkly. "I'll get a medley, shall I, and we can take our pick?"

"Perfect."

Before Spike can leave, though, Angel grabs his coat.

"We're not finished," Angel tells him in a low, determined voice, pulling him in until their mouths are only an inch apart. "You know it, and I know it. We're not finished." He kisses him again, firmly but without anger. Holding Spike's gaze, he slowly lets go. It would be a warning if there weren't so much warmth in it. No smile, no doting, not what there is for Wesley, but there's something there. Something for him. It's terrifying, but it's there.

There's a spring in Spike's step as he goes to find their axes, and it's not all about the upcoming fight.


End file.
